


Twinflowers

by LyingMonsters



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dorks in Love, Love, M/M, Pining, SuFin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 05:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyingMonsters/pseuds/LyingMonsters
Summary: There was someone embroidering a handkerchief on the bus three years ago. Tino asked them to add lilies-of-the-valley.





	Twinflowers

The bus ride was long and quiet. Berwald would have liked it. He would have brought his MP3 along, maybe, the one he always refused to replace no matter how outdated it might have been. Or maybe a handkerchief with lilies-of-the-valley and twinflowers that were all shades of blue. The former flower had been the one Tino had practically begged him to add (it was his favourite) when he’d seen Berwald first on this very train, embroidering in this seat with the cracked, dull red vinyl.

‘ _What flowers are those?’_  
_‘Twinflowers.’_  
_‘Pretty. I thought for a second that they were lilies-of-the-valley. They’re my favourite.’_  
_‘Do you like them a lot?’_  
_‘Yeah. I-I was about to ask if…’_  
_‘Do you want me to...add them?’_  
_‘Yes, please! That would be amazing, thank you so much!’_

(That seat was empty right now. It was his and nobody else’s. Tino always took the one to the right, from the very first day.)

Maybe he’d just be sitting there, staring out the window opposite, blue eyes serene and bright. His fingers would be laced with Tino’s, an occasional smile gracing his lips.

Without him, it was too long and too quiet and the seat with the cracked red vinyl was too empty, far too empty. Tino fingered the handkerchief in his pocket. Berwald hadn’t finished it, but he’d pressed it into Tino’s hand during that last night with a blushing kiss and a stuttered promise that ‘ _It’s not done right now, but I wanted you to see it, and I’ll finish it the next time you come to see me.’_

He pulled it out again and unfolded the crisp creases. All the lilies were finished, of the deep blue shade that Berwald had said matched his eyes. He must have started to work on them immediately. Half of the twinflowers were still just outlines of teal and blue. Somehow, Berwald could even make unfinished flowers look pretty.

Oh! There was the stop, the one that Tino had gotten off of in a daze, absorbed in talking to the man who’d so shyly and readily agreed to adding Tino’s favourite flower to his embroidery. And then Tino had realized with slumping shoulders that his stop was actually the next one, and Berwald had offered to drive him in his gray Subaru with dog fur all over the inside and _ohmyGod your dog is adorable can I please go pet it?_

So Tino had ended up playing with Hanatamago and chatting with Berwald for hours, and he’d nearly fallen asleep on the drive home with Berwald quietly humming along to an old radio station that was just slightly out of style.

And maybe he’d been just a little bit more tired than he realized, because he’d slurred out his number and nearly collapsed onto his carpet the moment he’d opened his door. That was what the note had said, at least, when he’d woken up on his couch the next morning covered by blankets. Berwald had also left his number and an invitation for coffee that had made Tino’s heart flutter.

He took his coffee black, no sugar, no cream, nothing, and downed it like a shot and not the boiling-hot beverage it was.

After all this time and all those years in between the man embroidering on the bus and now, and Tino remembered how amazed he was at Berwald’s ability to chug coffee-and black coffee, at that (and their tea shop’s brew was in no way weak).

And he remembered just as well the way that Berwald had glanced up at him over the rim of his paper cup with a heavy flush taking over his face and the word ‘ _Ow_ …’ involuntarily escaping his mouth at the same time Tino had realized that Berwald had strangely tried to impress him.

And he’d tell jokes in his quiet Swedish accent that nobody else ever seemed to find as funny, and would show up at Tino’s door with random trinkets and foods that they would share.

Tino was head-over-heels in love.

The words had come out one night when he was sitting at that party. Gilbert had handed him a bottle of beer and he’d nearly dropped it because he was too busy staring at the Swede who’s eyes were somehow still _focused_ , three beers and a platter of vodka shots later. It was that laser blue that had dragged out the words ‘I’m in love with you…’ right before one of them leaned in for a kiss.

Maybe it had been him, maybe it had been Berwald, maybe they were both too drunk on life and love and locking themselves away in that beat-up gray Subaru and kissing like the night was endless to figure out who it was. It didn’t matter in the end. All that mattered was that Berwald had kissed him near senseless and driven him home tired and happy again.

He’d called ‘ _I love you_ ’ when he’d driven away, and Tino had collapsed into his bed and dreamed of sky-blue eyes and blond hair.

Tino had learned that love was endless and deep and that you would drown if someone else didn’t come along to prop you up.

Someone to offer you the bed the first time you stayed over and give you a few of the spare blankets, too, just because.

Someone to steal kisses with in breaths between conversations or errands, exhalations white in the air or soft against skin.

Someone to listen to music with, and learn about all the two-years-ago stations they loved.

Someone who _kept giving you the bed_ , even if you stayed at your house, which was infuriatingly chivalrous and sweet. Someone who argued about that playfully until it didn’t matter, because they were there too, taking you, making you scream.

Someone to hold your hand in the crush of a crowd and whisper reassurances or jokes or simply directions so you wouldn’t trip because maybe that last glass of the wine that Arthur and Alfred had given you and that you’d finally opened was just a touch too strong. Someone who would eventually just pick you up and carry you bridal-style to a bedroom, where they would press you up against the wall and kiss roughly along your neck.

Someone to shyly offer you the handkerchief that wasn’t finished because he had been hesitant to truly be done with what he thought was such a precious thing.

Someone to drive you home and stay an extra few minutes idling outside your house because your song was on, the just- _slightly_ -out-of-style one. Someone to sing along to that song with.

Someone to fall in love with.

The leaves crunched under Tino’s feet, and he pulled his coat tighter around him and the handkerchief more intricately through his fingers.

‘Hello, Berwald.’ This was where he was always waiting now, always would be. ‘I brought you something. It’s-it’s our anniversary.’ Tino fumbled in his waistband with the hand not occupied by the knotted silk, unwilling to let it go. ‘Here. Twinflowers and lilies-of-the-valley. Our flowers. They didn’t sell them like this at the shop, so I had to pick them up separately.’

It had smelled like this, exactly like this on that first night. Sharp and smooth and full of leaves and soil. There was a different tang to the air here, but if he tried, Tino could ignore it.

‘Our anniversary, of the day I met you embroidering this on the bus.’ The silk was a constant under his fingers. ‘You never finished it, you know. Years, and you never finished it. And you said to bring it back to you the next time we met so that you could finish it, but…I don’t think you will. I’ll keep it.’

‘I don’t think I told you I loved you enough, and I’m afraid you might think I didn’t mean it. I do. I love you, Berwald. I love everything about you. Your jokes, the little awkward laugh you’d do or the blush on your face when you tried to impress me, the feel of your hair, the way you sewed. The way you kissed me, like I was delicate and precious. I love you, Berwald, so much.’

Tino dropped to his knees in front of the gravestone with fresh-turned dirt and sobbed, ‘ _They still haven’t found the man who did it!’_

**Author's Note:**

> I really didn’t mean for it to end exactly like that...
> 
> :: Doing things in the middle of the night when’s everybody else is sleeping, trying to be quiet


End file.
